


A Rather Unfortunate Misunderstanding

by bexpls



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (Big Finish Audio)
Genre: Blood, Gen, blood mention, constantly torturing poor eight, i feel like kate orman, i made up an alien species whoop, if it's any help i hate myself, set immediately after other lives, there is SOME torture but not graphically described, which is unfortunate for c'rizz
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-17
Updated: 2019-03-29
Packaged: 2019-10-30 12:20:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17828456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bexpls/pseuds/bexpls
Summary: The Doctor is getting tortured AGAIN, Charley can't quite tell if she's being held prisoner or not, and C'rizz is in a cell for the second time in a week.I just like writing with these characters. There isn't much of a plot, but there are multiple chapters, which is more than you'll usually get from me lmao





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Ka'lass Arbac'a is pronounced KAH-lash ar-BACK-ah, and L'cada is pronounced luh-KAY-da

The coolness of the knife as it slid against his skin was actually quite a welcome feeling. All he had felt for the past few hours was the heat and humidity of whatever room he was currently in. A greenhouse, maybe?

No, that was daft. People never tortured other people in greenhouses.

The flat part of the knife caressed his cheek and slipped down to his mouth, rotating as it did so the serrated edge was touching his lower lip, drawing a faint red line across it. At least, he thought it was a knife. It could have been something more exotic, but the texture of the metal it was made of and the shape of the blade seemed like it was just an ordinary kitchen knife, albeit not one that would be found on Earth. He was going to make a comment, something like, “You know there are thousands of better torture devices than a knife,” but he held his tongue. He didn’t really want his captor to get experimental.

“Still have nothing to say?” crooned the voice that he had grown used to, from right next to his ear. “No comment on the war? Nothing at all?”

The Doctor raised his chin and would have looked the person in the eye had he been able to see anything. “For the twenty-eighth time, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

The person punched him in the jaw.

The Doctor felt something break as his mouth filled up with blood. He spat it out, hopefully onto the floor and not all over his probably already bloodstained clothes. The motion hurt. Slowly, carefully, he moved his jaw to the left, winced, and moved it back. Yep, that definitely felt like a hairline fracture. Wonderful.

“Maybe I’d know what you were talking about if you told me who you are,” continued the Doctor, trying to ignore the gentle ache now emanating from his jaw. “Or took this blindfold off me.”

“Don’t be stupid,” said the voice. Now, they were somewhere behind him. That fact that he had not been able to hear their footsteps told them that the floor was soft, or maybe that they weren’t wearing shoes. Yes, very helpful, Doctor. Okay, think of things that might actually be useful clues as to your location. Let’s see, the humidity: that would suggest that he wasn’t underground. Ooh, another thing: there was no echo, so the room he was in was probably quite small. Was he on Earth? Where had he landed the TARDIS? Worryingly, he couldn’t actually remember.

“Why would I do that?” continued the voice. “So you can kill me too? Hunt down me and my family too? I don’t think so.”

The Doctor rolled his eyes as best he could, and wiggled his fingers to try and get some blood flowing back to his hands. The twine that bound his wrists was biting into him something horrible. “I’ve already told you, I didn’t kill anyone. Well, not recently. Well, not in any war. Well –“ He decided to stop. He wasn’t exactly helping himself.

The person didn’t respond. Not verbally. Instead, they hit him in the stomach.

“This is such a cliché,” he gasped, once he had gotten his breath back.

“What?” said the person, sounding slightly caught off-guard.

“This particular situation. I mean, interrogation, torture? This happens to me all too often. I’m almost surprised I don’t have amnesia. Oh no, wait, do I? Let’s see. Eighth incarnation, currently travelling with Charley Pollard and C’rizz, last thing we did before all this kicked off was go to London 1851, and, well, we know how _that_ turned out –“

His blindfold disappeared. Of course, logically and actually, his captor just took it off him. But it was a pleasant surprise.

“Thank you,” he said.

“It’s the only way I could think to shut you up,” said the person. “Evidently you don’t respond well to violence.”

Now that he had his sight back, he could see that they were a Ka’lass Arbac’a. To the uneducated eye, they looked like an amalgamation of a human and a cat, only with a little more human than cat. They had mottled purpled skin, covered at the neck, wrists, and legs with thin fur. Their face was rather feline in appearance, with a flat nose, a small mouth, and wide yellow eyes. A ridge of bone circled the crown of their head, flanked by two pointed ears. On the left side of their face, a dark purple scar slit their face from ear to chin. But he was fairly well-acquainted with the species, and he was astonished to see that they looked like a teenager.

“Quite right,” said the Doctor. “Now, when you say the war, which war do you mean exactly?”

The Ka’lass Arbac’a shifted uncomfortably. They gripped the knife tightly in their gloved hands. “I mean the War.”

“ _What_ war –“ The Doctor stopped. “Oh. You mean _the_ War.

The Ka’lass Arbac’a nodded. “Of course I mean the War.”

“The War of the Universe,” said the Doctor. “The Hundred-Species War. The War of Many Names. Always liked that last one, it’s very apt. Or to give it its official title, the Colonies War. That war?”

The Ka’lass Arbac’a snarled and sprang forwards, holding the knife against the Doctor’s jugular. “Yes. That war. Though I prefer the name ‘the Human War’. The war in which you killed so many of my people.”

“Wait wait wait wait,” said the Doctor, going to hold up his hands, then wincing as the twine at his wrists cut into his skin. “I’ve never been in the War of the Universe. I haven’t even met any Ka’lass Arbac’a, or at least not for a few hundred years.”

“Don’t lie to me,” said the Ka’lass Arbac’a, moving the knife to the front of his neck and digging it in, just a little. Enough to draw blood. Enough to leave a scar. “You don’t even have the honour to admit to your crimes?”

“It’s interesting how quickly people lose their honour when you’re holding a knife to their throat,” said the Doctor. “And besides, I didn’t commit any crimes. None that you would be concerned about, anyway. Nothing whatsoever to do with the War.”

“But you were there!” yelled the Ka’lass Arbac’a, and the Doctor couldn’t help but flinch at the sight of their fangs. “You were seen!”

“I was? By whom?”

“You were in a different form, then,” the Ka’lass Arbac’a went on. “But you’re unmistakeable. For all your skills, you’re terrible at disguises. You come to Ka’lass and wear that coat? You’d stick out a mile even if you didn’t look like a Time Lord. At least you got rid of that horrendous beard.”

The Doctor didn’t dwell on that last bit. “Look, I promise you that I didn’t kill any of your people. Have never killed any of your people. If I had, why would I have come to your planet?”

The Ka’lass Arbac’a hesitated, just for a moment. “To gloat,” they said, changing the angle of the knife so its tip was positioned in the hollow of his throat. One wrong move, one fit of anger from his captor, and it would be regeneration time.

If he was lucky.

Change the subject, he thought. Calm them down, make them less furious. “What’s your name?” he said quickly, in lieu of thinking of anything better.

The Ka’lass Arbac’a narrowed their eyes and moved the knife backwards a centimetre or two. “L’cada.”

“I thought Ka’lass names came in four parts.”

“They do,” said L’cada, “but I’m not about to give you that information. You could do anything with it.”

“I assure you, I won’t,” said the Doctor. “You can trust me, just I have trusted you. After all, you know my name, and you know the names of my friends, because I just told you them.” He stopped and remembered something. “Oh heavens, Charley and C’rizz! I knew I’d forgotten something.”

L’cada took several steps backwards. “The two people who were with you? The human female, and the other – whatever they are?”

“He’s a Eutermesan,” said the Doctor, “but that’s hardly important. You wouldn’t know what one is, anyway. No, the important thing is that you tell me where they are right now before I get very angry.”

“You’re not in any position to get angry,” said L’cada, and the Doctor realised that they were quite right. “But I don’t suppose there’s any harm in telling you. You can’t do anything about it, anyway.” They got very close to his face, but fortunately left the knife hanging by their side. “They’re in here too. Also being interrogated.”

“If you’ve laid a finger on either of them –“

“We haven’t,” said L’cada, but they hesitated just for a second. “As far as we’re aware, they aren’t war criminals. But if they’re associates of yours, they can help us to bring you to justice.”

The Doctor shook his head. He was about to mention the Shadow Proclamation laws on captured war criminals, then remembered that he wasn’t quite sure if the Shadow Proclamation still existed. Did they dissolve in the thirty-fifth century, or was it later than that? No, definitely later. No, wait, earlier. Oh, he had absolutely no idea. “They won’t say anything against me,” he said instead. “Actually, they _can’t_ say anything against me. Because I haven’t done anything.”

“So you keep telling us,” said L’cada. “The others tell a different story.”

The Doctor felt himself go cold, despite the heat. “When you say the others, you mean –“

“Your associates, yes. Charley and – what did you say? – C’rizz.” L’cada smirked. “Oh, no. Looks like your friends aren’t quite as loyal as you thought they were.”


	2. Chapter 2

For all the Doctor’s annoying quirks, thought Charley, there were some that has their uses. For example, his habit of talking incessantly to anyone and everyone who would listen, while infuriating at times, undeniably worked wonders at distracting anyone who might have kidnapped him. So she thought she might try it out herself.

“But I said to him, Doctor, I said,” she said, rambling on about any old thing. “We really need a holiday, something calm and relaxing, after all we’ve been through recently. So he suggested Cornwall. It’s a lovely place – oh, not that you’d have heard of it,” she added to the alien that was leaning against the door, a few feet away from her. “But obviously he overshot somewhat, and we ended up here.”

The alien was picking its teeth with the tip of the blade it was holding, in what she assumed was an attempt to unnerve her. It was working. But she was doing her best not to show it. Keep talking, get on his nerves. Do what the Doctor would do. What the Doctor probably was doing.

“Honestly,” said Charley, “I’m sure that if C’rizz and I had known that your people were recovering from a recent war, we wouldn’t have let the Doctor come here.”

“So you’re claiming ignorance?”

“Um,” said Charley. “Yes? I mean, yes. We don’t know anything about any war. But then, neither does the Doctor.”

“Lies,” said the alien, smiling at her. Or maybe they were baring their teeth. It was hard to be sure.

“Of course I’m not lying,” said Charley. “Why would we have come here if we knew about the – er – political situation?”

The alien crouched down on their haunches and stared up at her. As an intimidation technique, it was effective. Charley folded her arms and tried to look at something else.

At least they hadn’t tied her up. At first her hands had been tied together, but once the alien and a few of their friends had manhandled her into the room and into a pointy wooden chair, they untied her. She supposed she was free to move about in the room – not that she would want to. For one thing, the room was tiny, barely ten feet by ten feet. At home, it would just about qualify for a cupboard. So there wasn’t much to move about in. And for another thing, when she had tried to go towards the door, the alien had gotten right up in her face. Not touching her, not hurting her, but it was so unsettling that she had given a sheepish grin and sat straight back down.

She wasn’t entirely sure what species the alien was. She knew that they had landed on the planet Ka’lass; she knew that because the Doctor had said so. “I don’t think we quite made it to Cornwall,” he had said apologetically when Charley had emerged from the wardrobe wearing her swim-things. “I think we actually might be on the planet Ka’lass.”

“Should I get changed, then?” she had sighed.

The Doctor gave her a very short glance. “I would, yes. The climate is several degrees below what you’re used to.”

Well, he was wrong about that one. The surface of the planet was warmer than Scarborough in August, and the room that she was in was baking her alive. She almost wished she had stayed in her swimming costume. Almost.

“Look,” she continued, “we didn’t come here with the intention of – of killing anyone. None of us have ever killed any of your people, and we’re not intending to start now.”

The alien cocked their head but didn’t respond.

Charley felt herself growing annoyed. It wasn’t very effective interrogation, was it, when the interrogator wasn’t even asking any questions? If they were going to keep on acting like this, she had a good mind to just walk out of the room, intimidation techniques be damned, and see if anyone had anything to say about it.

“Where are the Doctor and C’rizz?” she said next.

“Your companions,” said the alien.

“Clearly,” said Charley. “Have they said anything about this ridiculous situation? About how you’re keeping us here against our will, questioning us about crimes none of us have committed?”

The alien did that teeth-baring thing again, though this time it was definitely intended to be a smile. And not a nice one. “Oh, they’ve both been talking. Much more than you have.”

“Don’t be silly,” said Charley with a sniff. “C’rizz knows even less than I do about all this. And as for the Doctor, he can’t talk about something he didn’t do.”

“How can you be so sure he didn’t do it?” the alien shot back.

“Because I know him.”

“But he’s a Time Lord,” hissed the alien, as if the words tasted foul. “He’s hundreds of years old. You’re barely out of adolescence. Even by our standards.”

Charley frowned. "So you're -"

“So he could have done any number of terrible things before he ever met you. What makes you so sure he’s as good a man as he says he is?”

Charley shook her head. “He’s never claimed to be a good man,” she said. “He just is. I know he is, because of the things he says and does. I’ve watched him save cities, civilisations, whole planets, even. Only a good man would do that.”

“Or someone who wanted to atone,” said the alien.


End file.
